Folding the material carefully, Hoben slid it into his belt pouch. "Nothing right now, but let me think on it. What do you say we go down and discuss this over lunch? I think Gundil's illness is catching. I'm beginning to feel a bit woozy up here."
Friar Bobb was sitting with the rest of the audience in front of the west wallsteps, by the gatehouse. When the friends appeared he waved for them to sit down by him, whispering, "Sorry about lunch, I'll fix something later. Come and enjoy yourselves. We've had some marvelous entertainment here."
Egburt and Floburt were tootling flutes and performing a jig, while Grandpa Drogg beat a small drum as he sang for them.
"We never have to comb our spikes,
Because they won't lie flat,
An' that is why you'll never see,
A hedgehog wear a hat.
I've seen some hares wear helmets,
And bees in bonnets too,
While molemaids favor mob caps,
All stitched with bluebells blue.
But hedgehogs don't wear headgear,
An' that's my sad refrain,
Poor hedgehogs get as wet as frogs,
When left out in the rain!"
They skipped off to great applause, still tootling their flutes.
The next item was a real novelty. Sister Alkanet and three little ones, Durby the molebabe, a tiny mousemaid named Feegle and the smallest hedgehog who could just about toddle, called Wegg, climbed up on to the wallstep, which served as a stage. In her severe and precise tones, the Sister recited a cautionary poem. Much to the hilarity of the audience, the three infants acted out the lines with serious faces and much paw wagging.
" 'Tis often said by otherbeasts,
And trust my word 'tis so,
There are certain manners,
Which Abbeybabes should know!
All Dibbuns must behave themselves,
From break of dawn 'til night,
Tug their ears, touch their spikes,
In general, be polite.
Bid all their elders time of day,
Don't interrupt. .. My word!
Our rule is Dibbuns may be seen,
But very seldom heard.
One must wash one's paws and face,
Before one ventures out,
And up one's sleeve a kerchief keep,
With which to wipe one's snout.
Never sup soup noisily,
Say please and thanks when able,
Remember to excuse oneself,
Before one leaves the table.
If Dibbuns heed these golden rules,
They grow up good and true,
Early to bed, straight to sleep,
And don't hide when bathtime's due .. . Thank you!"
The little ones bowed, to tumultuous applause, though Foremole Brull was heard to remark to Cregga, "Doan't hoide when barthtime be due? Hurr hurr, lookit likkle Durby thurr, larst toime me an' 'is mum barthed that 'un ee water turned to solid mudd, burr aye!"
Before any other contestant had a chance to present themselves, Boorab leaped up, flourishing his long robes dramatically. "I do this not for any triflin' reward, wot wot, get it, trifle? Ahem, pray attention, goodbeasts all, for as Abbey Poet I have composed a small recitation that I shall recitate. These few lines would bring tears to the blinkin' eye of an underwater fish! Mothers, cover your babes' tender ears! For 'ere goes, ear goes? Hawhaw, that was a good 'un, wot wot?"
"Oh, get on with it, you great long-eared windbag!"
Boorab glared at old Hoarg, who had shouted out the remark. "Fie on you, sah. Even windbags have feelin's!" Then, drooping his ears and waving a limp paw, Boorab soulfully began.
" 'Twas winter one summer an' spring was in bloom,
The turnips were twittering gaily
As I cleaned out my humble room,
Three times I do it, twice daily!
When a mole flew in by my window,
He bid me good night and day too.
His eyes were yellow, his nose was green and his tail was pinkyblue.
That mole gave me a very odd stare,
Which I put in me pocket for later,
He then asked me if I was a hare,
Or a rascally impersonator?
I replied to him, in accent grim,
'Good sir, I'm a him not a her,
I'm a him that's a hare not a her that's a him,
And the least is as large as the greater!'
'If you're a hare that's a him, he quoth,
As he left my room with a leap,
'When I return this leap, you'll be,
Not a hare or a him, but a-sleep!'"
Boorab bowed elegantly, tripped over his robes and leaped up in the same instant, calling out to Filorn, "Who could compete with that pulsatin' performance, marm, wot? Deliver the toothsome old trifle to me room at once, so I won't have to share it with these talentless bounders. Don't applaud too loud, chaps. Only doin' me job, y'know. Modest as ever, that's me!"
The trifle was immense, a real beauty. It was displayed in the gatehouse doorway. Helped by Mhera and Fwirl, Cregga mounted the steps, at Filorn's request, to deliver her judgement. She held forth her paws for silence.
"What a wonderful entertainment. You've made my task very difficult. I was going to award the trifle to Boorab, but you all heard him say that he required no trifling reward. So I've decided to give the prize to all the Dibbuns who took part. It's such a huge trifle that I'm sure it's far too much for any onebeast!"
Laughter and cheers greeted the Badgermum's popular decision. The Abbeybabes dragged the trifle inside the gatehouse and slammed the door.
Mhera turned to Brother Hoben. "Well, Brother, have you had time to think about the piece of cloth and the lettering on it?"
Hoben took out the article in question and stared at it. "I've racked my brains until my head's aching, but I'm afraid it's a complete mystery to me. Sorry, Mhera."
Friar Bobb picked the cloth up. "Is this your latest find? What is it?"
Fwirl put her chin in both paws glumly. "We haven't the faintest idea, sir. D'you think Cregga will know?"
They took it to the Badgermum, who sniffed it and felt it. "Faint scent of lilac, that's about all I can say. What is the lettering on it? Read it to me, please, Broggle."
"HITTAGALL. All in capital letters, marm, written in a downward line. Is that any help?"
Cregga passed the cloth back to Brother Hoben. "I'm afraid it doesn't mean a thing to me."
Looking thoroughly downcast, the good Brother sighed. "Then that's it, we're defeated. 'Twas all for nothing."
Mhera slapped her rudder down hard against the step. "Well, I'm not defeated, I'll solve that riddle somehow. I'm not going to give up hope or let it beat me!"
The friends strolled paw in paw back to the Abbey, their air of gloom not even dissipated by Boorab, who was pounding the gatehouse door, pleading with the Dibbuns inside.
"Have a bally heart, little chaps, open up for a poor starvin' hare, wot! I'd have given you a jolly good share if I'd won the trifle, honest I would, cross me ears an' hope to turn blue. Come on, open up an' be reasonable, little bods. At least let me lick the bowl. If I die of the horrible hungers it'll be your fault, y'know. Festerin' bounders! Trifle thieves, meadowcream marauders! I hope you all get the screamin' tummy ache. Cads!" He loped off and caught up with Mhera and her friends. "I say, you lot look pretty sad, wot. Did you want to win the trifle too?"
Mhera smiled weakly. It was one thing having plenty of fighting spirit and stern resolution, but she was as baffled as the rest. Brother Hoben was right; all their questing had amounted to nothing. The entire thing was still a mystery.
Chapter 17
It was the evening of their second day upon the mountain, and still the hunters had not sighted any sign of their quarry. Vallug Bowbeast sat shivering over a small fire made from odd twigs and dead heather. He stared out at the tracks of his own party, crisscrossing the snowfields that ran up toward the peak. His stomach made a squirling noise. It needed food, but there was none whatsoever to be had. Eefera was the first to show over the high ridge. He trudged down to the glimmering fire, long bluish shadows of eventide creeping down after him. White steamy breath issued from his mouth as he sat down beside Vallug.